


The 12th Man

by thealexiad



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/F, M/M, Pent-up Feelings, Soccer AU, World Cup Aspirations, and College-bound Ian, and all that, gendered slurs, homophobia and heteronormativity, with Soccer Prodigy Mickey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2209896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealexiad/pseuds/thealexiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich has dribbled, passed, and scored his way out of an abusive home and into a promising soccer career. He's determined to reach even higher and doesn't want to let anything get in his way, least of all emotions and desires his father taught him no real man should have. Mickey's carefully policed and laser-focused mindset is threatened however when he meets Ian Gallagher, someone who can see in Mickey much more than simply a rising star in American soccer. Mickey will have to break down barriers within his own mind while still dedicating himself to the sport that saved him in his youth. Ian will feel compelled to get to know better someone who has deliberately hidden away most of himself, while at the same time he'll be forced to fight his own internal battles. As the two collide, nothing will be the same going forward, on or off the pitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kick-off

The light feeling of his feet touching the natural turf told Mickey Milkovich that he was finally home. The cold Chicago winter seemed to be gone for good; the snow on the pitch had melted away and the swampy mess that followed the thaw had dried up. Mickey could feel his own thaw coming on as well; the tap of the ball against his cleat, the satisfaction of the undulation of the net as his shot soars into the back and the liberating exhaustion of sprinting from one end of the pitch to another. Soccer had always been his only real home, whether it was on the streets of Canaryville or here in Toyota Park, it was the one place he really felt secure. Even in his own apartment he didn’t feel as completely safe as he did here - this place where he was able to prove to himself and to the world that he was valuable, that he wasn’t the piece of shit that years of abuse had convinced him that he was.

Mickey knew better than anybody that he hadn’t always been on course to become a left winger for a Major League Soccer club or to become one of the top young prospects for the US Men’s National Team. Analysts often said he was an unlikely prodigy because of his height, but they didn’t know that at eight he had lost his mother, leaving him and his siblings to fend for themselves against their father who only grew more abusive without their mother to keep him in check. They hadn’t been there to see the black eyes, or the weeks of school missed afterwards. It wasn’t like that was something he wanted to tell reporters though; he would just tell them about when it started getting better. He would talk about when a family from Rio moved in next door when he was nine, when he met their kids: João, a boy his age, and Beatriz, who was the same age as Mandy and less than a year younger than the boys. He’d talk about discovering the beautiful game and playing it on the street with his new neighbors. Before he knew it he had fallen in love, and turned out to be a quick learner and a natural talent. He also found two best friends in João and Beatriz, and fortunately their parents were generous enough to help Mickey pay to join João on a local travel team (Mickey never mentioned that his father had refused to help him pay at all, nor that when he’d asked for help, Terry had some choice words for the sport which Mickey was not about to repeat to the reporters).

Unusually for a Milkovich, from there Mickey seemed to have a streak of good luck, putting on his best performances at the right times with the right people watching. Scouts from the Chicago Fire youth system soon took notice of him, and he was ushered in. As he rose through the youth ranks, he travelled more and more (which had the benefit of getting him out of Terry’s house) and continued to improve at a rapid pace. By the time he was 16, Mickey was offered a contract with the Fire. And now, four years later, Mickey had risen to become one of the club’s top players. To the entire world, or at least most of it, it seemed that Mickey’s story was a fairy tale, that he’d made good, that through his effort and dedication he had made it to the peak and conquered every obstacle. They didn’t see the scars he still bore, inside and out - the scars that haunted him everywhere but on the pitch.

As he went through drills and workouts with the rest of the squad, Mickey felt at peace, though it was an uneasy peace. When he was on the field there was a part of his mind – which was growing ever more persistent over the years - that always reminded him that the relief he felt here was only temporary, and the minute he left the pitch it would all come back to him. Sure, he had made friends on the team, but there was so much that he had to hide, so little of himself that he felt he could share with others, that even when he went out with his teammates he felt an overpowering sense of loneliness. He could talk about a good play he and a teammate had made last match, a movie he’d seen, and maybe even a band he’d been listening to recently. But every word, every gesture, had to be policed lest anybody suspect he was anything but straight; anything but normal. He wouldn’t gush too much about the teammate’s good play, he’d be careful to not even mention the name of a male actor if he could help it, he wouldn’t admit to listening to any kind of music that would bring into question the image he wished to portray – that he was a monolith of masculinity with no feminine side for him to be in touch with.

The most difficult topic was always, however, girls. His teammates would talk about their girlfriends, girls they had been with and girls they wished they could have been with. They’d comment on looks, offering up compliments and throwing out insults and when Mickey was invited to share his opinions, it was always a delicate balancing act as Mickey had to toe the line enough to avoid further inquiry while at the same time differentiating himself enough from the others so as to not make it blatantly obvious that he was just copying what his teammates were saying. As time had gone on Mickey had to struggle harder to maintain the façade of feigned interest. It was hardest though when he felt compelled to tell tales of his own sexual adventures - making up names and creating backstories, explaining that the girl wasn’t on Facebook or that she must have used a different name. Occasionally he’d fall back on girls whom he had gone to school with, as he knew his teammates wouldn’t actually go through the trouble of tracking these girls down and interviewing them about their experiences (or lack thereof) with Mickey. All the effort made going out for a drink with his teammates seem like a chore, one that Mickey had increasingly started to avoid. It wasn’t so bad as long as he reminded himself that it’s not like drinking alone was unusual for a Milkovich, anyways.

The practice went by fairly quickly, and Mickey would say he did well. The passes he sent out were on target and the passes he received were expertly brought under control. His footwork hadn’t worn out too badly over the winter, and he’d be back up to snuff by the time the season started in earnest. He’d chatted with most of the squad, catching up with those he hadn’t seen in a while. Overall, it’d been a pretty good day.

Pretty good, until he’d received an unwelcome invitation. Lopez, a fellow midfielder, approached Mickey who had just finished packing up his gear and was on his way out. “Hey, Milkovich, a few of us are heading downtown for lunch. The nutritionist doesn’t have to know that we’re getting burgers.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, before gruffly relying. “I’d like to, man, but I got some shit to do. Got a meeting with my realtor.”

“Heh, good to know you’re taking advantage of your nice new contract. Maybe next time, Milkovich.” Lopez clasped his shoulder before going back to join their other teammates.

With a half-hearted wave, Mickey turned and walked out the door, heading to his car. He had indeed gotten a fat new contract - his stellar performance last season having given him a good amount of leverage. Of course he’d planned to stay in Chicago, but he hadn’t let the management know that. Desperate to keep the talented local boy, the Fire had pulled out all the stops to incentivize Mickey to stay. Feigning reluctance, he’d accepted the new contract once he was satisfied that it was enough.

As he drove back into Chicago, Mickey’s phone started ringing. Already knowing who it was, Mickey put it on speaker and greeted the caller. “Douchebag.”

“Asshole. Y’know the tour’s in a half-hour, right? Where are you? It’d be nice of you to be here since you’re the one co-signing the lease.”

“Fuck, Mandy, it’s not my fault. Practice went longer than I thought and the traffic’s not fucking helping.”

Mickey heard what must’ve been someone whispering in Mandy’s ear, and he just barely could make out Mandy whispering back “Babe, be patient, he’s just caught in a little traffic.” More whispering. “Yeah, I know that we’ve got four tours lined up today. You told me ten times already this morning.”

Mickey would about had it by then. “Yeah, ok lovebirds, I guess I’ll just hang up.”

“Don’t be a dick, Mick.” It was Karen, of course.

“Nice one Karen. How long’d it take you to think up that one?”

“Oh, you know it actually came to me weeks ago, I was just waiting for the perfect chance to use it. Didn’t think it’d take this long though.”

“Yeah well, y’know I’ve been trying to turn over a new leaf and shit.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say Mick-hey!”

“Sorry Kar, just gotta make sure this asshole knows where to meet us. You got the address Mick?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s in my fucking phone.”

“Good. See you there then.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

\---------------------------------------

As Mickey parked by the apartment, he scanned the outside. The Mickey of five years ago would’ve laughed at himself for worrying about “safety.” He would’ve said a roof and four walls was enough. Now that he had the money though, Mickey wanted to do right by his sister. If he was honest with himself, helping his sister like this made him feel better than anything else in his life right now. As he got out of his car and walked towards the building, he saw her standing with Karen, waving at him.

“Hey, asshole, luckily for you the realtor seems even less able to be on time than you.”

Mickey sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Y’know it’s a lot of work being a professional athlete.”

“Too bad you couldn’t ’ve been in the NFL. Then you’d be getting us a mansion in Lake Forest-ow! What the hell Karen?!” Mandy rubbed the spot on her shoulder that Karen had punched..

“You do know that Mick’s part of the fastest-growing professional league in the US, right?”

“I was just giving him a hard time, Kar, but fine. Point taken.” Mandy turned to Mickey. “You happy my girlfriend’s sticking up for your sport?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Mickey was still scratching his head when he saw a flash of orange out of the corner of his eyes. Out of a curiosity even he couldn’t explain, he looked over to see someone running down the sidewalk. Well, not just anyone. He was one of the most mesmerizing people Mickey had ever seen. His red hair was certainly his most distinctive feature, but he also seemed to be, under his tank-top (it seemed a bit early for tank-tops in Mickey’s mind, but he wasn’t about to complain), slender yet built at the same time, tall but not too tall, and with a face that seemed to radiate kindness, even tired as it seemed from the runner’s quick pace. Now more than ever Mickey wished he had the courage to say something, anything, but something inside stopped him from allowing himself to do that. Even just to know his name would be nice; to be able to put a name with that kind face. Mickey supposed it couldn’t be helped, and allowed his eyes to linger on the face for one more precious moment. He was about to turn back to his sister, trying to think of a conversation to get his mind off this man who he was sure he’d never see again anyways.

Fate, as it would turn out, had something else in mind for Mickey Milkovich that afternoon.

“Ian?” Mandy’s face seemed to light up as she said the name. His name. “Ian Gallagher what are you doing here?”

The runner’s face changed from dogged to chipper in an instant as he saw Mandy there. “Mandy! I could ask you the same thing!”

Almost tripping down the stoop, Mandy ran to embrace Ian, and Ian warmly returned the hug. Mandy playfully punched his broad chest. “It’s been what, two years now?”

“Why don’t you tell me? You and Karen eloped right after we all graduated! I’ve only gotten the occasional text-”

“-which you don’t respond to half the time.” Mandy didn’t seem angry though, she still seemed too happy to see this guy to be angry. What was his deal? He couldn’t have been an ex – she hadn’t had the good fortune to meet anyone this nice in high school before Karen – so who was he?

“I’ve been busy, y’know, with classes and homework and all that stuff. I see you guys are still going strong.” He turned to Mandy’s blonde girlfriend and gave a curt nod. “Karen”

Karen slowly nodded back. “Ian.”

A silence ensued, and after a couple seconds, Mandy had decided that it had lasted too long. “Good to hear you’re still in school, Ian. You seeing anyone right now? There’s not a shortage of cute boys in Chicago.” Mickey’s ears perked up, and then almost started burning at the word ‘boys’. Ian was gay? Mickey could feel the knowledge of this fact eating away at him inside almost instantly. Here was a guy who seemed to be everything Mickey could have ever wanted, and he was gay, yet Mickey’s fear of himself wouldn’t allow him to even speak to Ian.

Ian seemed to hesitate as he replied to Mandy’s question. “Well…I’m not seeing anyone, right now, no.” He looked at the ground solemnly, avoiding eye contact with Mandy for a moment before looking back up. Mickey could discern that he was forcing the smile back on his face, but he couldn’t tell if Mandy had noticed. “But, uhh, yeah, everything’s good.” He maintained eye contact with Mandy for another instant before sneaking the quickest look at Mickey, and their eyes met for an instant. Mickey had to do everything in his power not to let that look take his breath away, and it was probably a miracle he had succeeded – the price, of course, was that he was sure he looked at best stone-faced, and probably looked almost disgusted.

 “Well I guess that’s good Ian. By the way, as you’ve probably already figured out, this grouch over here is my bro-” Mickey could see that Mandy was about to introduce him, and he panicked, the world seeming to go into slow motion. He couldn’t be introduced to this man like this, no, he just couldn’t. Maybe, Mickey thought, maybe if he could be himself, maybe if circumstances were different, he could meet Ian. Maybe then he could let himself fall in love with that kind face and that warm voice, but not now. He had his career to consider, his career that allowed him to support Mandy like this, to help her get away from Terry; he didn’t have time to ‘find himself’ and to improve as a player at the same time.

Mickey was in the middle of cursing Terry in his head for forcing this guilt upon him when he saw that the realtor had arrived, getting out of her car. Thinking fast, maybe too fast, Mickey interrupted his sister. “Look that’s great, but Cecile’s here now and we’ve got four places to look at today. C’mon, Mandy.” With that he turned and stormed off into the building, leaving the other three standing confused on the stoop.

******************************

Ian got back from his run a bit later, having gone a few more miles after meeting up with Mandy. After Mickey had gone into the apartment building, Mandy had finished her introduction. “Sorry, he’s not really a fan of meeting new people. He’s not a fan of most people at all, honestly.” They’d said their farewells as the girlfriends went in to follow Mickey, followed by the realtor.

For the rest of the run Ian could not get Mickey’s face out of his head. Sure, overall he’d looked pretty grumpy to put it nicely, but Ian had snuck a couple of glances at his eyes, and he loved what he saw – they were a marine blue that seemed deep enough to dive into. And behind them Ian felt like he could see a kind of sadness, as if something were trapped inside Mickey that he couldn’t dare to let out. Of course, it’d been discouraging when Mickey’s face seemed to contort when their eyes had met. Mandy had always talked a lot about Mickey, of how proud she was of his skills and his hard work that had gotten him into the MLS. He’d never been around though; always at this soccer camp or that before finally being recruited by the Fire at 16. Ian had of course known him – well more like known of him – before Mickey had become a rising star in American soccer, but they’d never really had a chance to meet each other. Ian had hoped to finally be able to do that there, but it seemed like Mickey wanted nothing to do with him. It certainly wasn’t the first disappointment in his life.

Still, Ian could not get Mickey out of his mind. After going back and forth on it with himself for a bit, he decided to text Mandy.

_Ian: hey, i get the feeling that your brother doesn’t like me_

Mandy responded almost instantly. She must’ve really missed texting him.

_Mandy: yeah, sorry about that. i don’t really think he likes gay ppl, except for me an kar of course. but i think he might just make an exception for me._

Ian sighed. He’d known about Terry’s attitudes well enough from what Mandy had told him. _Guess that apple didn’t fall far from the tree_. He looked down to see another text from Mandy.

_Mandy: i feel bad though, if he knew how nice you were i’m sure even he could come around. i could set up a trap for him at my house, invite both of you over without telling him._

That brought a smile to Ian’s face. He didn’t want to force Mickey to meet him, but in this case he decided to let his impulses get the better of him.

_Ian: you’d do that for me?_

_Mandy: of course. you kept the creepy guys off of me all through high school. least i can do is introduce you to my brother._

_Ian: yeah, i’d like to get to know more of your family…well more of your family that you actually like._

_Mandy: yeah i’d like you to meet them too. we should def hang out more now that i’m back in chicago._

_Ian: definitely._

\---------------------------------------

A few hours later Ian was watching TV when he got another text from Mandy.

_Mandy: ok well lucky for you we found a place today and we’re moving in next week! me and karen have agreed to have a small housewarming thing with just the four of us the day after we move in._

Ian couldn’t help but grin.

_Ian: sounds great! i’ll see you there._

Ian lay down lengthwise on his couch and let out a relieved sigh. He knew that Mickey seemed on the outside to be standoffish, but somehow he could feel, even from those couple minutes, that there was something more to him – of course, maybe that was his unbounded sense of optimism talking, which somehow had survived the total collapse of his dreams a couple years back. Even though Mickey had seemed thrown off by their eye contact earlier, for a moment before he made a face and looked away, Ian could’ve sworn that he’d seemed a deep intensity, a deep focus in those eyes.

Ian Gallagher wasn’t sure what lay behind Mickey Milkovich’s eyes, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might have seemed a bit heavy on Mickey's PoV, but Ian, along with Mandy and Karen, will get more proper backgrounds as the fic goes on.


	2. Tiki-taka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey Milkovich has dribbled, passed, and scored his way out of an abusive home and into a promising soccer career. He's determined to reach even higher and doesn't want to let anything get in his way, least of all emotions and desires his father taught him no real man should have. Mickey's carefully policed and laser-focused mindset is threatened however when he meets Ian Gallagher, someone who can see in Mickey much more than simply a rising star in American soccer. Mickey will have to break down barriers within his own mind while still dedicating himself to the sport that saved him in his youth. Ian will feel compelled to get to know better someone who has deliberately hidden away most of himself, while at the same time he'll be forced to fight his own internal battles. As the two collide, nothing will be the same going forward, on or off the pitch.

Ian did his best to keep himself busy as the day of the housewarming approached. He doubled down on his studying, went for lengthier runs, and offered to spend far more time than usual looking after Liam. Fiona had ventured to ask if he was feeling ok - Ian of course knew what she really meant - and Ian had reassured her that everything was under control. His mind was certainly racing, but he was focused, no, fixated on those morose blue eyes and that shy, anxious face. Ian lost count of the number of times he changed his mind about Mickey. He’d managed to convince himself that among the melancholy of Mickey’s eyes there was a longing – but not a longing that was meant to be seen. It was a longing dragged down and chained up by a deep-seated sense of self-loathing, but it was there; Ian was sure of that. At least he was sure half of the time, but the other half…he couldn’t get Mandy’s words out of his mind – it was entirely possible that Terry’s son could have ended up the same as Terry, with the same homophobic, gay-bashing tendencies. Sure, he’d accepted Mandy – she’s family – but maybe the intensity in Mickey’s eyes when Ian looked into them had been more rage than desire; a rage directed at Ian’s very existence.

Convinced that Mickey lay at one of those two extremes, Ian couldn’t help but feel a rapidly growing sense of anxiety as the week wore on. Deep down, Mickey either wanted to kiss him or beat the shit out of him, and Ian was unsure whether or not he wanted to take on the risk of the latter possibility occurring. He must have considered texting Mandy to ask her to call it all off a dozen times, but each time he thought about picking up his phone, his curiosity got the better of him. Ian was determined; he would solve the mystery of Mickey Milkovich one way or another.

\---------------------------------------

The Saturday of the housewarming finally arrived. Ian got off the El and arrived at Mandy and Karen’s place feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. The apartment was the same one where he had run into them – and Mickey – and as Ian approached he noticed that the car parked in front was the same one as last time. Mandy didn’t have a car, and Ian doubted Karen did either, so it had to be his. Ian felt completely unprepared. He had planned to get there before Mickey, to be able to settle in a little and get comfortable before formally meeting the man he had just spent the last week agonizing over. Steeling himself for an immediate confrontation, Ian knocked on the door, unsurprised to hear Mandy yelling “Don’t everybody get up at once! I’ll go fucking get it!” The frustration he heard in her voice disappeared by the time she opened the door as she greeted him with a cheerful smile.

“Glad you came!”

“Yeah, I’m glad to be here.”

Mandy smirked and grabbed his hand “C’mon, we got chips and salsa just for the occasion.”

Ian managed a grin in return “Wow, you really went all out huh?”

“Yeah, whatever asshole.”

Mandy pulled him into the living room, where Karen appeared to be glued to the TV - a soccer match was on, of course. Karen had been on the high school team, and was known to wear a different team’s jersey to school every day. Whether it was the EPL, la Liga, the Bundesliga, or of course the MLS, it didn’t matter to her – if people were playing soccer somewhere, she was a fan of it. Rumor has it that Mickey’s soccer talent is what got Karen talking to Mandy in the first place. Mandy insisted that this wasn’t true, and in the end how they’d started talking to each other clearly didn’t matter now. Ian envied their happiness, but at the same time he kept in mind their struggle. They both had a succession of nasty relationships in the past – both romantic and familial – and both in fact had at one point dated Lip. In spite of the fact that he did love his brother, Ian had to admit that dating Lip would be a mistake for anyone.

Ian had, if he was honest with himself, been quite nasty to Karen while she was with Lip, and even though she was Mandy’s girlfriend now, Ian was still unsure about how to approach her – he certainly didn’t expect forgiveness for the things he had said. Their relationship had also been colored by another awkward encounter in the past; that had been Lip’s doing as well. As it stood now, neither was very comfortable with the other, and Ian certainly wasn’t prepared to mend those ties today, not with Mickey on his mind.

Trying to keep this encounter as brief as possible, Ian squeezed out a lukewarm “How’s it going, Karen?”

He got back about what he’d expected. “I’m good, Ian.” Short and to the point – the point being that she would much rather be watching the game than engage in a conversation with him right now.

Mandy clearly sensed the tension and did what she could to diffuse it. “Ian, there’s more food in the kitchen. I think you’ll find what you want there.”

Ian gladly took the hint, and excused himself as Mandy went to the couch and settled herself down next to Karen.

When Ian found Mickey in the kitchen, the soccer player was mixing some sort of smoothie. His back was to Ian, and he either didn’t hear him coming in or chose to ignore him. Ian felt that it was safe to assume the former; the food processor which Mickey was using was fairly deafening after all.

Ian moved to the kitchen table to grab a handful of chips when he heard Mickey grumble “Where are the fucking bananas?”

He was obviously talking to himself, but when Ian saw him looking furiously around the room his helpful nature got the better of him. Ian gave the room a glance himself and quickly spotted a small bowl of bananas on top of the fridge. He reached up and split one off the bunch, and before he knew what he was doing he heard himself saying “Here you go Mickey” and saw his arm outstretched towards the other man, offering the banana.

Idiot, he scolded himself, you haven’t even been introduced yet and you’re already acting this familiar?

Mickey looked back for a second with his eyes wide and his mouth open-

_Did I break him…?_

-before blinking and snatching the banana from Ian’s hand. He looked down and murmured what Ian assumed was “Thanks,” but Ian’s ears were burning so hot that he wasn’t sure he was hearing correctly.

_Well, I’ve already jumped into the deep end here, so it might make sense to backtrack a bit here and introduce myself._ “I’m-I’m Ian, by the way.” Once again, he involuntarily held out his hand.

Mickey took the hand brusquely and gave it a quick shake. “Mickey.” As he let go Ian felt a soft gentleness, and Mickey’s hand seemed to linger there in half-contact for an instant longer than was normal. Mickey hesitated for a moment before adding “But it seems like you already knew that.” Ian had to restrain himself from letting a huge grin take over his face as he realized that his best-case-scenario for Mickey might just turn out to be reality.

Ian decided to try and press his advantage into a full conversation, but he was hardly able to think before he made his first move. “So, I – uh, heard you play soccer.”

Mickey snorted as he chopped up the banana. “You heard, huh? No shit.”

_Jesus, Ian, have you forgotten how to talk to people?_ Ian scratched his head as he tried to think of how to salvage this conversation. “Well, yeah, of course, that’s silly of me. Everyone in Chicago knows you – you’re a local hero.”

Ian caught Mickey glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “Hero, huh? The Fire aren’t making it to the front page of the Tribune anytime soon.”

“Well South Side at least, Canaryville, everyone talks about you. You made it out, that’s always a big story.”

“You still down there?”

“Yeah, still living in the big old Gallagher hou-well nah, you probably don’t remember us.”

Mickey let out an abbreviated snicker. “Gallagher, heh, how could I forget you guys. Always stirring up shit.”

“Well we’re still at it. Lip’s gone to school though, out east at MIT.”

“MIT huh? Big shot.”

“Says the MLS prodigy.”

Mickey shook his head as he dumped the banana slices into the processor. “People really play me up back there, huh?” He turned on the machine and the conversation was stalled for a minute as the bananas were shredded into the rest of the mix. Neither of them seemed willing to yell over the noise, and Ian kept trying to make eye contact with Mickey, attempts which Mickey parried with a deftness which Ian had not expected. Perhaps Mickey expected Ian to leave, but Ian wasn’t about to walk away. He felt that he was close to the answer he was looking for.

*******

_Jesus Christ, what could he want?_

Mickey’s fight-or-flight (or as he had slipped when thinking to himself ‘fuck-or-flight’) instincts had been in high gear ever since he had sensed Ian enter the room. Mickey couldn’t explain it, but even with the food processor running it was as if he had felt a change in the air pressure when Ian had walked in. The fact that the redhead had proceeded to start a conversation had not helped his blood pressure.

It’d only taken a second after he had finished pureeing the smoothie for Ian to pick up right where they’d left off.

“Like I said, people look up to people like you, like you and Lip. People who can get out.”

“Whatever man, I’m not trying to save the world.”

“Mandy even says you might be on the US squad for the next World Cup. That’d be big news for all of Chicago, hell – they’d probably run your story on the national news.”

Mickey scoffed. _This kid just some big ray of sunshine?_ Deeper down, a thought came up – _Isn’t that what you want?_ – and then disappeared like a puff of smoke. While desperately trying to get his thoughts under control, Mickey blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “You ever even seen me play?”

He hadn’t meant to exude that confidence – that cockiness, but he could hear it in his own voice as the words escaped his mouth. And then what he had actually said hit him. _Did I just give him a fucking invitation?_

The smirk that snaked its way up Ian’s cheeks told him that he had.

“Why no, I haven’t actually. Mandy’s talked about your playing all the time though – she says it’s like you’re dancing across the pitch.”

Mickey felt his eyebrows hit his hairline and could have sworn that his face was hot enough to melt right off. “Mandy said what?”

It was at that moment that Mandy walked in, to Mickey’s relief. “I say a lot of things Mickey. You two lovebirds are really hitting it off, huh?”

Mickey knew that Mandy must have been kidding, but those words still made Mickey’s face feel as if it had enough heat to melt steel. He quickly stepped back from Ian with the smoothie and went to pour it in a glass for himself.

Mandy would give him no respite however. “What’s up with that smoothie anyways? There’s more fruit in that than you ate in the first sixteen years of your life.”

“Trainer’s orders.”

“If you say so.” Mandy finally turned her attention away from her brother and to her redheaded guest. “Hey, the match is over and I’ve convinced Karen to watch The Winter Soldier with us. You seen it yet?”

Ian shrugged and gave a look of faux uncertainty. “Maybe once or twice, yeah. But I’m sure I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.”

_What a nerd,_ Mickey thought, but with far more affection and far less disdain than he was comfortable with.

\---------------------------------------

After the movie was finished, and after Mickey had received a sound scolding for making the mistake of revealing that he had never even seen The First Avenger, Karen and Mandy had intimated pretty plainly that they’d enjoyed the small gathering but that it was getting late and they’d prefer to have the place to themselves. Ian and Mickey both took their leave of the girlfriends and made their way to the front door. Mickey had been thinking that he would sneak out before Ian left so he wouldn’t be alone with him again, but another part of him knew that this was the scenario he’d been hoping for. Mickey put on his Fire hoodie – being on a professional sports team had made clothes shopping a thing of the past – and his shoes, and followed Ian out the door when he realized that Ian was just wearing a t-shirt.

Sure, it was spring, but the nights were still cold.

“Yo, how far is your walk to the El station?”

Ian stopped and turned around, clearly surprised by Mickey’s apparent concern. “Quarter mile, half mile? Not that bad.”

“That’s kinda far in this weather, man. I can just give you a lift home.” Mickey’s brain was screaming at him. What the hell are you doing?

“You’d do that?”

_Too late now._ “Sure, it’s not that far out of my way and I’m not in a rush.”

Ian’s face grew that smirk again. “Alright, as long as it’s not a problem.”

Mickey sighed. Last time he’d felt this way he was looking down from the observation deck of the Sears Tower. “Nah, ‘course not.”

They got in the car and Ian moved his seat back. Mickey’s mind was racing as he started the engine. He had to take advantage of this situation – or at least he wanted to, or he thought he wanted to. There was, at least, something compelling him to do…something. He knew the way back to Canaryville by instinct, but Ian seemed insistent on giving directions anyways. Just hearing Ian talking, just hearing his voice, gave Mickey’s heart a feeling he thought he could only get when he was on a breakaway.

As they were going down a long main road, Ian finally took a break from his GPS-like recitation of directions and Mickey worked up the courage to ask a question. It was a question he already knew the answer to, but it was an important one nonetheless. “So…you’re…gay, huh?” He felt himself cringe a little at the sound of the word, but once it was out he felt as if he had exhaled metric tons of stress.

Ian didn’t miss a beat. “Yup.”

“That’s…” _Good?_ Mickey hadn’t thought of how to carry on with the conversation without completely suppressing any chance of outing himself. “…good for you.”

Ian took a moment this time. “Yeah.”

_Where do we go from here?_

The next few minutes were silent, aside from Ian’s ongoing directives.

Before long they got back to Canaryville, and Mickey made a decision.

“Hey, Mickey, I told you to turn on the next street not this one.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Oh, this is…”

“Yeah.”

It was the Milkovich house. Terry’s house. Some in the neighborhood called it the ‘Milkovich house of horrors,’ for reasons which Mickey was painfully and intimately aware of.

Mickey stared ahead at the dashboard. He hadn’t thought of what to say here, he just knew that this was where he had to go. “My dad still lives there.”

“Your dad…Terry…” The venom in Ian’s voice told Mickey that Mandy had informed him about at least a small fraction of their father’s transgressions.

“Yeah. He, uh, he hurt Mandy. A lot.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And he uh, he…”

“You didn’t get off scot-free, did you.”

Mickey felt his eyes burn. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this, especially not in front of this kid who he barely knew. Why’d he come here in the first place? Ever since he’d seen that shock of flaming red hair he’d been making stupid decision after stupid decision.

“I dunno. I…fuck.”

“Mickey, is there something you want to tell me? You can trust me; I mean I don’t care if you don’t want to…that is if you don’t want-”

“I…” Mickey realized that his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to the Earth.

Gravity then truly came undone in the next moment. Mickey wasn’t sure what he felt first, whether it was some magnetism or some disturbance in the air or just the gentle touch of the pale skin, but before he knew it Ian had latched onto his right hand with his left. Mickey felt the long fingers gently brushing over his knuckles. His stained knuckles. His knuckles that marked him forever with the legacy of his upbringing – at least physically marked him, since it was the marks on the inside were far deeper and more permanent. During games he had to cover them with tape; no media outlet wanted those letters and those words on their screens and their papers.

Ian’s fingers stroked them without judgment.

**F U C K U – U P**

Mickey remembered the pain the day he was stained. He remembered – fuzzily – his father getting him drunk and telling him “one of my friends has something for you.” Before he had realized what was happening, the ink and the needle were touching his skin, were in his skin. His father yelled at him, railing against his “pussyshit excuse for a sport” and saying that “you need something that’ll show them you’re a man – a real man.”

Ian must have felt his hands shaking, because the strokes became firmer and more gradual.

“Mickey, if you want to tell me you-”

“I…fuck…I…”

Mickey heard Ian exhale and saw him close his eyes and look down. “Would you rather just drop me off for now?”

Mickey could only muster the resolve for a nod – he didn’t want Ian to go, but at the same time he didn’t know what would happen if they stayed there – and that scared him.

Mickey pulled a three-point-turn and made for the Gallagher house. As Ian moved to get out, he hesitated for a moment.

“Hey…if you want to talk later – well do you want to talk later?”

Mickey let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay then, I’ll give you my number. Text me or call me whenever, okay?”

Mickey's heart did something he wasn't sure he'd ever felt it do before - _Fluttering?_  - “Uh, sure.”

\---------------------------------------

Hours later, back at his own apartment, Mickey finally passed out, exhausted. His thumb was still hovering over the ‘call’ button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiki-taka "is a style of play in football characterised by short passing and movement, working the ball through various channels, and maintaining possession." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiki-taka)

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give shoutouts to thestarsarealight, noelroeimfisher, lesjouetsdudestin, and anythingbutgrief for all the help they gave as I was writing this!


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